Icarus 2–Quadrille

He rises–

filled with wonder,

on wax wings he flies

high and higher

closer to the flaming fire

spurred towards the sun

(heart’s desire)

too late, stunned,

aware of his blunder

he cries–

no longer inspired–

“Father, forgive me.”

and falls to the sea


Peter Paul Rubens [Public domain], “Fall of Icarus,” via Wikimedia Commons

This is a Quadrille for dVerse. De “Whimsygizmo” has asked us to use the word “fire.”


Odysseus Under the Moon: Ghazal

This is my attempt at a Ghazal for dVerse. 


Over star-glimmered waves, we journeyed and sailed under the moon.

There we bemoaned our fate, still sailing—railed under the moon.


We see the fork-tongued serpent, slither-scaled under the moon,

she, no siren, silver-voiced with hair unveiled under the moon.


From the towering giant, one-eyed, we quailed under the moon,

but scurried we, when blinded he was thus curtailed under the moon.


On blood-wine seas, the winds caught and prevailed under the moon

And what of the gods, we flattered, yet failed, under the moon?


What lands should we conquer? If heroes, we’re hailed, under the moon.

And what tales of those places to you we’d regale under the moon.


Do we return to love, or to marriages failed, under the moon?

My own wife, unconsidered, what of her travails under the moon?


Too far, too soon, the poet sleeps unassailed under the moon

to the gentle rhythm of the waves, inhales, exhales, under the moon



Carl Gustav Carus [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

The Pleiades: Tanka

This tanka is for Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday. Colleen asked us to use synonyms for myth and write


In the before time

seven sisters soared skyward

sailing the night sea

in my dreams, I sail with them,

creating my own stories



By NASA, ESA, AURA/Caltech, Palomar Observatory, “The Pleiades,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons





Awakening: Haibun

This poem is for dVerse’s Haibun Monday. Frank asked us to write about being pleasantly surprised.

I wake to the pleasant surprise that Doug Jones has won the Senate race in Alabama. The win gives me a tiny bit of hope that people have been awakened, though I am still disheartened by the closeness of the race. Like Daedalus, we could create; like Icarus, we could rise and soar, and we could rescue those who dare to dream but fall, so that they can try again. Instead, we sink into the muck, believing lies and embracing bigotry, ignorance, and greed. My husband and I light the Hanukkah candles. I watch their flickering glow and think of miracles. Later, as I turn out the bedside lamp. I hear geese honking in the winter night. Do they beat their wings to the songs of the shimmering stars? Do they dream of soaring higher? I wonder and think again of miracles.


wait for the sea change–

the winds shift and the waves roll

awakening spring



Lucílio de Albuquerque, “The Awakening of Icarus,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons





Sunset: Magnetic Poetry

We watch the

light sleep. Pink shadows

like sky gowns,

rose-blown sweet—

from rust mist, a goddess sings

recalling what was


Screen Shot 2017-12-09 at 2.22.58 PM




The Oracle was quite stubborn today. She ate a previous poem that seemed closer to today’s snowy day.  I think she remembered the Yeats poetry challenge. . .and what was, and so, she gave me this shadorma.


Berenice’s Hair: Yeats Challenge, Days 23 and Day 24

This is for Jane’s Yeats Challenge, Day 23 and Day 24.

“…your hair was bound and wound

About the stars and moon and sun::—W.B. Yeats


“We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead;” —W.B. Yeats 


He was away at war, another one

it seemed to happen again and again.

Was it glory, she wondered, or was it fun?

Would he return from battle, if so, when?

And what would happen when it was all done?

Though common worries, this time she’d had a dream

that he was wounded, or no, that he was killed

she woke with a scream, so true it seemed

for all their hopes dashed, left now unfulfilled.

She begged the goddess to spare his life,

and swore in return she’d cut her hair–

for her husband, as his wife,

she’d shear the strands that shone golden in the sunlit air

that flowed like waves of honeyed wheat

a glory recalled by all who saw it there

tumbling to her feet.

Then when her husband returned unharmed and well,

she kept her vow and left her hair at Aphrodite’s altar,

her husband pondered the story she had to tell

and that she never had faltered

and both were first bewildered, then enthralled

to find up in the sky

installed in a constellation

(though unsure why)

her hair swirled and flowed, unbound and wound

in glittering strands of riotous celebration

there far above the smiling moon, a shining crown

a tribute to her sacrifice, done without any hesitation–

though that was not the end of course

of war or force, nor of remorse

for pain and dying

yet still the stars keep flying,

and we, marvel at their beauty, keep sighing.




By ESO [CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons. “The galaxy pictured here is NGC 4565, which for obvious reasons is also called the Needle Galaxy. First spotted in 1785 by Uranus’ discoverer, Sir William Herschel (1738-1822), this is one of the most famous example of an edge-on spiral galaxy and is located some 30 million light-years away in the constellation Coma Berenices (Berenice’s Hair). It displays a bright yellowish central bulge that juts out above most impressive dust lanes.”



Dream Goddess–Yeats Challenge, Day 18

This is for Jane’s A Month of Yeats Poetry Challenge, Day Eighteen. 

Today’s quotation: 

“The dews drop slowly and dreams gather;” —W.B. Yeats


She gathered dreams like berries in a basket,

grasped them, sorted them, sweet and tart,

an art,

matching dreams to dreamers,

sending them to lovers and schemers

some fragrant and ripe, like the fruit

but that wouldn’t suit,

not everyone.

Some dreams were like the fruit for jam or pies

mixed together, cooked, filled with hints of other things, or lies,

or perhaps words for the wise—

sometimes she even prophesized.

She went about her task with thoroughness,

not obsessed or oppressed,

it simply was her endeavor

she existed always and forever.








The Lovers: Yeats Challenge, Day Fifteen

This poem is for Jane’s A Month with Yeats, Day Fifteen.

Today’s quotation:

“You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.” —W.B. Yeats


And so, he came to where the dim tides flow

here upon the wharves of sorrow, dared to go,

listened now for Charon’s boat, the slapping sound of weathered pole

the echoing cries of distant weary souls.


But entered he without a fear, played sweetly then upon his lyre

the music that filled the air was warm with sighs and filled with fire

because here within this shadowed world, his love did dwell

playing sweetly then, he cast a spell.


The underworld king, his captured queen looked from their gilded thrones,

agreeing that he should not be left bereft of love, nor kept lonely and alone

for such love and devotion, such tumult of emotion he had displayed

crossing over the ocean of darkness, from lighted world to constant shade.


They thus agreed, from the underworld she could go,

but promises he must willingly keep to make it happen so–

she would follow him from this hidden world, behind him there she’d be

not once though could he stop to look or see


Once round the cavernous steps went he

believing that there behind him, his love would be,

twice round and then up they went, closer to the world of light

when he, not believing she was there, turned to catch a sight


Instantly, from Hades he was then thrust out

for not trusting the gods, for having his doubts,

but Aphrodite prevailed to place the lovers’ souls amidst the stars,

traveling the sky as shimmering silvered cars

where like a bell their love now rings,

in music of the stars, the sweet far thing.



Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot, “Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons